


Bringing Home Strays

by Glare



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Arrow (TV 2012), Daredevil (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Superheroes Meeting Superheroes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:53:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3872773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glare/pseuds/Glare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>**OM HIATUS UNTIL MID-JULY 2015**<br/>A series of crossover oneshots about heroes running into other heroes.</p><p>Lame summary is lame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boy in Red

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. Comments and Kudos are appreciated.  
> Hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy Harper winds up in Hell's Kitchen after he leaves Starling.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Foggy babbles as he stares down at the red-hooded kid that’s bleeding out onto the concrete. His night was not supposed to go like this. He was supposed to be picking up takeout, going back to the office, and having a quiet night in with Matt and Karen while they worked on their latest case. How dangerous was that?

In Hell’s Kitchen, it was apparently very dangerous. He’d not even made it two blocks before Foggy’s pulled into an alleyway by three men with scary looking guns that demand his watch and wallet. His life flashes before his eyes when one of the men shoves him against a wall and presses the barrel of his gun to Foggy’s temple for not following their commands fast enough. His breath is coming in ragged gasps, fear like a snake constricting around his chest. Then _he_ appeared.

“Hey!” the voice called from the rooftops, red hood and mask obscuring his features. It’s not the red mask Foggy’s used to seeing, but right now he doesn’t think he’s going to be picky. “Get away from him!”

The masked figure leaps from the rooftop to a nearby fire escape, scaling down it was a grace that only Matt had previously achieved, and lands at the far end of the alley. Foggy is immediately forgotten by his attackers, who turn to face this new threat.

“Learn to count, kid,” the apparent leader snarls, “there’s three of us and one of you.”

That doesn’t seem to deter the man in red, who rushes to meet the muggers without pause. Foggy can see why in only a few minutes—all three are dropped without getting a single shot off. Two of them have arrows sticking out of their various limbs. As such, he’s understandably startled when his savior crumples against the brick wall of the alley, sliding to the ground, the tell-tale drip drop of blood on the pavement sending him scrambling to the man’s side. A wet spot was blossoming through the fabric on his midsection, but Foggy can’t see any holes in the previously pristine red uniform. He frantically presses his palms against where he assumes the wound is, and does the only thing that comes to mind.

“Matt? Matt! I need help, buddy. Matt!” He yells as loud as he possibly can. What was the point of having a best friend with super senses if he can’t come to your aid when you need it? He wasn’t too far from the office, surely Matt could hear him? Right?

It’s ridiculous, but it works, because in a matter of minutes he can hear hurried footsteps on the concrete heading in their direction. Foggy glances up when Matt kneels down beside them. He doesn’t have his glasses or his cane, and something in the back of Foggy’s mind wonders how they’re going to explain this to Karen, but it’s drowned out concern because the red-hooded man had gone still beneath his palms.

“Foggy? What happened?” Matt asks in a voice that’s very un-Matt. It’s his Daredevil voice. Very take charge and in control, and Foggy’s thankful for it because it snaps him out of the haze his mind had fallen into.

“I-I went to go get the take-out and these guys grabbed me. They pulled me into the alley and were trying to take my stuff and this guy showed up.” Foggy’s gaze flickers to the unconscious men further down the alley, and Matt doesn’t need him to explain what happened after that. “I didn’t see a knife or anything but he dropped and was bleeding all over and-and…”

“Foggy,” Matt says softly, more Matt and less Daredevil, pulling the man’s hands off the wound and replacing them with his own, “I need you to call Claire and have her come to the office. Can you do that?”

“Y-Yea.” Foggy fumbles through the pockets of his coat in search of his phone, unconcerned for the moment with the blood that smears against the screen when he dials Claire’s number. Matt heaves the wounded man into his arms and makes his way onto the streets, which are blessedly empty this late at night. Foggy follows behind, explaining the situation to their resident nurse as they go. It would have been better to take the kid back to Matt’s apartment, away from Karen’s prying eyes, but the office is closer and neither wants to risk further aggravation to the wound with a bumpy taxi ride.

Matt’s desk is cleared and the kid laid upon it, Karen spewing questions that they’ll worry about later. Foggy locates the uniform’s zipper, opening the jacket up while Matt instructs Karen to fetch water and paper towels. When the excess blood is cleared away—Foggy’s glad the kid is unconscious because his hands are shaking and probably would have made it hurt worse—they get a decent look at the wound. It’s a laceration to the midsection, small pieces of string hanging uselessly from the mangled flesh.

“He tore his stitches,” Foggy says, probably unnecessarily. Matt could probably tell with his weird fire vision. Karen declares that she’s going to be sick and flees the room.

Claire arrives soon after, calmly closing the wound while she complains about Matt always ruining her nights off. When she runs out of steam on that topic, she turns to lecturing on why he shouldn’t be taking on an apprentice. Matt does his best to explain to her that he hasn’t, that he has no idea who the kid is, but it doesn’t deter her at all. Foggy is thankful Karen as not yet returned. They had enough to explain already.

Claire has already left by the time the kid comes too with a stifled groan, one hand flying to the now-bandaged wound. He brushes his fingers over the gauze and opens his eyes, staring at the ceiling for a just a moment before he tries to push himself upright. Foggy places a hand on his shoulder, gentle but firm.

“You shouldn’t be moving. You could re-open your wound.”

“Where am I?” the kid asks groggily.

“You are at the offices of Nelson & Murdock, attorneys at law,” Matt says smoothly. “Do you remember what happened tonight?”

“Saw somebody getting mugged. Stepped in. Tore my stitches…” he shifts on the desk, a hiss of pain escaping him.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Roy. Roy Harper.”

Harper watches as Matt picks up the bow Foggy had brought back from the alleyway, running his fingers along its limbs. Probably wondering why they haven’t called the cops yet. If Foggy was a wounded vigilante in strange place with strange people, that’s what he’d be wondering.

“Anybody tell you that these things are archaic?” Matt asks with a sly grin. Harper laughs.

“They never really stop,” Roy wheezes out between giggles, “but it gets the job done. The guy who trained me swears by his. Says using a bow takes patience and control. Helps to take emotion of the fight or something so you’re less likely to do something stupid.” They lapse into silence for a moment. “How come nobody’s called the cops?”

“Well, you did save my friend’s life. Plus, it would be pretty hypocritical of me to have somebody arrested for vigilantism.”

Harper’s eyes go wide when he works out the meaning of Matt’s words. “You’re the Daredevil?” he asks with awe.

Foggy takes that as his cue to leave, closing the office door behind him and leaving the two to talk shop. There will be time to find out more on the mysterious Roy Harper, he won’t be going anywhere soon with that wound, and for now Foggy can be patient. Besides, it might be good for Matt to meet somebody who can dish out a beating without having to take one. Maybe then they would ruin less of Claire’s nights off.


	2. Wounded Warriors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil Coulson patches up a wounded ARGUS Agent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In like every AoS/Arrow crossover out there, Phil is Felicity's mysterious father. I feel like a situation like this would have been much more likely than surprise paternity.

The ARGUS base in Hong Kong is a pretty drab place, if Phil could say so himself. The plain, windowless concrete walls confuse his sense of direction as he’s escorted down them by a standard-issue agent in an equally drab grey uniform. He’d been surprised, and a little excited, when Fury had given him the assignment as liaison for the joint task force they would be running for an upcoming mission. Now he just wished somebody else was doing it.

Not to say that Phil thought himself, or his job, more important than the word done by ARGUS. They were every bit as dangerous and important as SHIELD, but while SHIELD dealt with supernatural or extraterrestrial threats against the world, ARGUS focused more on the mortal. Phis knew full well that sometimes it was just your average, everyday human that were the real monsters, capable of concocting horrifying schemes with nothing but their own twisted minds.

After two rights, a left, a few flights of stairs, one… dammit, he’d forgotten. The hallways certainly do their job of confusing those unfamiliar with their layout. After a fair bit of walking, then, they reach a command center. It’s likely the main hub of the facility, judging by the sheer number of agents that mill about the room carrying folders and reports and statistics. It feels almost familiar, reminding him of his days at the Hub. The nerves that been making his skin crawl settle marginally.

His guide slips away with a command to wait there for his superior. He moves to the edge of the room, content to play the good agent and stay out of everyone’s way. It lasts for all of a few minutes, until his curiosity gets the better of him. He steps away from the wall and weaves through the room, peering over the shoulder of this agent or that as they work on papers of computers. The technology here is not up to SHIELD standard, but still years ahead of what’s available commercially. He supposes that it’s to be expected. ARGUS wasn’t as fond of playing with alien technologies as his employers.

Over the din of the crowded command center, he barely catches the sound of clattering metal. It’s not just his imagination, judging by the number of eyes that flicker to a doorway opposite the one he came in through. None of them particularly interested in searching for its source, but Phil is already moving. He stops in the doorway and, when it looks like he’s not going to be gunned down by the agents that track his progress through the room, slips through it.

It doesn’t take long to find the source of the commotion, a short hallway and raised voice leading him to what looks like a small medical bay. It’s empty save for a lone nurse and his unruly patient. Phil can’t see the man’s face from his perspective, but he can see the small shards of metal that protrude from the patient’s side and the expression on the nurse’s face is more than enough to explain the situation.

“If you don’t settle down, I will be forced to sedate you again,” the nurse says in exasperation.

“So you can turn my skin into hamburger meat again? I can patch myself up!”

The nurse makes a token effort at his job, making a move towards a particularly large piece of shrapnel. The man snags his wrist before it gets anywhere close, the tweezers in the nurse’s hand clattering to the floor. The nurse rips his hand free, storming from the room with a frustrated snarl. Phil stops him in the doorway.

“Mind if I give it a try?” he asks, gaze flickering to watch as the patient heaves himself off the metal table, gingerly cupping his injured side as he bends to pick up the discarded tweezers. The nurse looks at him with a look that clearly translates to something along the lines of “you’re crazy” but doesn’t stop Phil from entering the room.

“That doesn’t look very sanitary,” he calls, opting to lean against the doorframe instead of immediately invading the unknown man’s space. He halts in the action of wiping the tweezers off on his already grimy pants, muscles growing taught as he shuffles around on the table to face the newcomer. When he finally gets a good look at the patient, Phil is momentarily thrown.

From behind, all Phil could see was a head of shaggy blond hair and a heavily scarred back. He’d expected some aged veteran, years at war having taken their toll. The face he sees, though, is no older than his mid-twenties. Barely older that Phil was when he joined SHIELD. Sharp blue eyes flicker over him and his muscles relax, apparently satisfied with what he sees. Phil takes it as permission to approach.

“I’ve had worse,” the man (kid?) says wearily. From the look of those scars, Phil doesn’t doubt it.

“Still, looks like you could use a hand.” 

He edges slowly closer, purposely telegraphing his intentions with each step. Too many altercations with Romanov and Barton have instilled in him a wariness of wounded warriors. Everything would appear find until the moment it wasn’t, the flash of a metal instrument or some background noise triggering a response from a hidden minefield that, if you were lucky, only put you on your ass. There had been times where he wasn’t so lucky.

“I’m Phil. Phil Coulson.” He says when he’s close enough to touch, pleasantly surprised when the kid relinquishes his grip on the tweezers and shifts, allowing Coulson a clear view of his side.

“Oliver,” the boy grounds out between clenched teeth as Phil pulls the first piece of shrapnel loose. The process is time consuming and likely agonizing, as Oliver turns down the offer of painkillers when Phil makes it. They don’t speak again, save for a brief pause in the procedure when Oliver requests that Phil tie his hands behind him. When asked why, Oliver tells him that men in pain are unreliable, and that he didn’t want to accidentally cause him harm. Phil removes his tie and uses the delicate fabric to bind his wrists, all the while wondering if the nurse from earlier had even been accidentally hurt. It was likely, judging by how fast he’d fled the moment Oliver had become confrontational.

Coulson eyes Oliver’s scars as he works, a map of the past carved into his skin. Burns, bullets, and a few marks on his torso that could have come from nothing but torture. He wants to flinch at the brutality of it, but doesn’t want to offend. There’s a tattoo on his shoulder blade that’s raw and red with infection. If Oliver cares that he turns his attention from his now-wrapped side to the shoulder, he doesn’t voice it.

“That is definitely not sanitary,” Phil mumbles, dabbing at it with antibiotic cream before beginning to wrap that as well.

“It wasn’t.” Oliver doesn’t elaborate, and he doesn’t press.

He’s helping the boy pull his shirt over his head when another figure appears in the doorway. Phil recognizes her from the photos in the file he was given. Amanda Waller. Oliver scowls at her, and she scowls right back.

“You can meet your handler in briefing when you’re done here.” She says flatly.

“Briefing?” Phil scoffs in disbelief, “I just got him patched up! He shouldn’t even be on his feet!”

“What I do with my agents is none of our business, Coulson.” Waller says scathingly, watching as Oliver pushed himself to his feet and limps to the door. He brushes past her, and Phil can do nothing but watch him go.

“Come on, Agent Coulson. We have business to discuss.”

He hears, in his mind, Fury’s whispered words of warning. To prepare himself for Amanda Waller and her ruthlessness. He wished he’d better heeded those words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's never mentioned in the show, but i'd bet cash money that the tattoo Slade gave Oliver probably got infected like a billion times. Apparently they can get infected weeks after their application. I didn't know that until I did some research for this fic. I imagine Oliver or Maseo probably does most of their first aid, but Waller would probably have them brought in for serious injuries instead of risking such valuable assets.


	3. VS Vibranium Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Flash VS Vibranium Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timelines of this chapter don't match up at all.  
> But I don't really care!  
> I wanted this interaction, but with everything going on in S2 of SHIELD it just wouldn't fit nicely there.

“What is he doing?” Phil asks as they watch their latest guest run headlong into the wall of The Cage for what has to be the third time today via the screens in FitzSimmon’s lab.

The trip to Central City wasn’t much of a surprise to anyone. Reports of powered people had been landing on SHIELD desks in numbers that were frankly astounding. With the reported upswing in crime and homicides, it was only a matter of time before Coulson and his team were dispatched on their own attempt to try and discover the reason behind the sudden explosion of powers. 

“Someone really should try and speak to him,” Jemma says wearily. “He’s been in there all night, and he could seriously injure himself at the rate he’s going.”

“I’d planned on going in when he calmed down, but…” Coulson gestured helplessly to the screen, where the others watched their powered prisoner kick a chair over in his distress.

It hadn’t been easy, getting the man to the Bus. In fact, it had taken the team days to even track down his location. It was Skye that first noticed the pattern—that their speedster was following 911 calls. They’d read reports of his vigilantism, the locals called him The Flash, but it almost seemed too good to be true that a powered person would be using their gift for something selfless for once. After that it was just a matter of legwork, transmitting a false distress call and dosing the masked figure with Night Night gun’s refined dendrotoxin formula.

Even so, they’d barely made it back to the Bus in time, the Flash already starting to stir by the time they’d managed to get him into the Cage. It’s mid-afternoon now, but fear of a potential escape had kept them from properly rolling out the welcome wagon.

“What do we know about this guy?” Ward asks, leaning against the holotable. Fitz is quick to bat his away when he interferes with the schematics of the Flash’s tech he’d been working with while the others talked. Ward settles for one of the lab benches instead. “Might be helpful if we knew more about him.”

Skye taps away at her laptop. She’d been silent for most of the day, hesitant of overstepping boundaries so soon after the removal of her tracking bracelet. A new set of images pop up on the screen, the live feed from the Cage pushed to a far corner. 

“The facial recognition I ran listed him as one Barry Allen.” In the picture on the screen, the speedster looks more like a kid than an adult. “Twenty-five. He works CSI for the Central City Police Department. Says here he was in a coma for nine months after the particle accelerator explosion. He was transferred to STAR Labs a few days in. Just woke up a couple of months ago.”

“SHIELD tracked a huge release of dark matter released by the explosion,” Fitz says, looking up from a digital reproduction of the Flash’s communication device. “Do you think that could be where he got his powers?”

“Can’t say for certain, but it matches up with the timeline.” Phil’s about to continue, about to try and figure out some plan to calm their visitor down, when alarms begin to blare. “What is that?”

May materializes as if from nowhere, at his side when the group whirls around to watch the loading ramp slowly lower. Skye’s typing frantically, but judging from the look on her face, whatever she’s doing to try and stop what’s happening is going poorly. Weapons are drawn when the ramp hits the ground, and whatever they were expecting, it certainly wasn’t what they got.

There’s only two intruders, both young in the face and wearing matching worried expressions. In fact, they seemed quite startled to be met with armed resistance when they themselves are brandishing only what appears to be bags of fast food and a box of saline drips. The woman starts when they reach the top of the ramp, but the man has completely ignored the guns in favor of eyeing at the still-active holotable with wonder.

“Identify yourselves,” Coulson does his best to glower at them from behind his weapon, but it’s hard to remain wary when they both look like they belong on a college campus somewhere. The gun just seems like overkill.

“Is that table projecting holographic images?” the man says in leau of answering. Phil suspects he may have not even heard the command. “That is so cool!”

Thankfully, his companion is paying attention. “I’m Dr. Cailtin Snow, and this is Cisco Ramon. We, um, we tracked a friend of ours here?”

“How’d you get into our systems?”

“We know a hacker…” Dr.Snow has the decency to look ashamed as the sentence trails off. Her eyes fix on the screen over their shoulders. “Oh my god, Barry!”  
She brushes past them heedless of the weapons waving in her face, Ramon following close behind. Their expressions match again, this time a horrified expression directed at the screen displaying the Cage’s live feed. Apparently Mr. Allen had attempted another run at the wall while they weren’t watching. 

Dr. Snow whirls around and stomps up to Coulson, getting as far into his face as possible while not letting go of the box of saline drips. Ward and May look prepared to step in, but a nearly imperceptible nod keeps them rooted in place.  
“You have to let me see him. We are his doctors, you can’t keep us from seeing him,” Snow snarls, and it’s surprisingly intimidating. Coulson looks over her at the screen, Allen is leaning heavily against the walls for support, and decides it may be best to play along. If only to make sure the man doesn’t kill himself.

“Of course,” Phil steps back, holstering his weapon. “Agent May will accompany you. I would prefer that Mr. Ramon stay here, however.”

Snow’s and Ramon’s eyes meet, their unspoken communication testifying to a long history between them, and Cisco dumps the greasy paper bags in his arms atop the box in Cailtin’s. May leads her away, the room falling silent with their departure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally intended for this to be one chapter, but it's getting SO LONG????  
> Part 2 to come.  
> Thanks again for your continual support.
> 
> Edit 1: In case it wasn't clear, or you're unfamiliar with the lore, Barry was trying to phase through the walls of the Cage. Unfortunately for him, they're lined with a Vibranium alloy, which (if i'm remembering correctly from the first Cap movie) halts all forms of vibration. No vibration = No phasing.


	4. VS Vibranium Pt 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter because I completely forgot where I was going with this. Oops.

Coulson and Skye watch the screen while Fitz and Jemma go back to their various work stations. Ward watches Ramon.

“What were all those hamburgers for, anyways?” Ward asks, curiosity uncharacteristically getting the better of him.

“Barry’s powers came with a bunch of side effects, one of them being increased metabolism. He has to eat upwards of 130,000 calories a day to keep up.” Ramon responds, fixing them with a pointed look. “I doubt he’s gotten that here.”

The silence resumes for just a moment. Jemma has the decency to look horrified where she’s observing a sample of Barry’s blood under a microscope at her station. Really, she should have thought about that when they’d brought him in. How could she have missed it? _Of course_ Allen’s body would have gone through changes to help him adjust to his supernatural speed.

Cisco tears his eyes from the screen when Snow finally enters the picture, rushing immediately to Allen’s side and helping him into the chair May has righted. The doctor wastes no time before hooking Barry up to the bags of saline drip. While the speedster roots around in the greasy bags of burgers, she checks him over for injuries beyond the effects of his malnourishment.

“So… you haven’t asked about who we are.” Phil points out as Cisco drifts hesitantly closer to Fitz. “Or why we took your friend.”

“You’re SHIELD.” The man says absently, absorbed in watching the holotable at work. “You landed a huge plane at the airport. Not hard to miss.” At Phil’s disbelieving scoff he adds, “Plus, we have ARGUS contacts.”

That makes a bit more sense. SHIELD and ARGUS knew each other, if only distantly. Fitz had finally noticed Ramon hovering, and glances at Coulson for some form of advice on how to handle it. Phil has none for him. He’d lost most of his control over the situation the moment the pair of scientists had stepped onto his place. Fitz eyes Ramon for a moment, taking in his appearance and fascination with the tech, and settles on a direct approach.

“It’s called a Holotable.” He says, testing the waters.

“It’s totally rad,” Ramon responds enthusiastically, taking the conversation as invitation to step closer. “We don’t have anything this advanced at STAR Labs. It would be awesome in helping me configure the tech on Barry’s suit, though.”

“You made this stuff?” Fitz asks, perking up almost immediately at the prospects of another engineer.

“Yeah. Caitlin’s the doctor, and I’m the tech guy. Can’t fight crime without cool toys!”

“It’s impressive. Is this a micro-camera?”

The two settle into an easy conversation—something that startles the rest of the team. Fitz’s socialization was poor at best, but Ramon kept up with the lingo that went over their heads and responded in kind. Obviously it just required the right touch to get the kid talking. On the screen, Snow also appeared to have settled, content in the knowledge that they’ve done no irreparable damage to her charge. Barry is powering though the burgers in a way that has left a disgusted look on May’s face.

“Oh! I meant to ask. What are the walls of that cell lined with?” Cisco asks, turning to Phil. “Barry should have been able to phase right through it, but he couldn’t.”

“Phase?” Jemma asks from her workbench.

“It’s called Vibranium. It’s an element that stops all forms of vibration.”

“That… makes sense.” Cisco murmurs. “Most of Barry’s powers work though vibration. Where did you get that stuff? We’ve been trying to take down this guy with powers like Barry’s, but we wouldn’t have anywhere to hold him once we did.”

“It’s pretty rare, but I think I could set you up with somebody.”

Phil has definitely lost control over this situation. They were supposed to be assessing Allen and his powers, but here he was offering to put an intruder to their plane in contact with their main Vibranium dealer. He’s struggling to think of some way to push this conversation back where it needs to go when Ramon, thankfully, does it for him.

“So… How long are you going to want to keep Barry here? Because he’s pretty expensive to feed, and he’s definitely not going to be happy about being kept off the streets. Plus, his foster dad is a cop and I’d rather not be the one to explain to him why his son is mysteriously missing”

“We shouldn’t have to keep him here any later than tonight. We just brought him in to assess his powers and any potential danger to the community. From what we’ve seen so far, though, we shouldn’t have any problem with letting Mr. Allen go once we’ve indexed him.”

“Cool.” Cisco says with a wide grin, and goes back to talking engineering with Fitz.

Phil can’t wait for the indexing process to be over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The math on the calorie count: In 1.02, Cisco tells Barry that he needs to eat the equivalent of roughly 850 tacos to keep up with his new metabolism. Google lists a single taco at 156 calories, which means Barry needs to consume almost 133,000 calories to stay healthy. Yikes.


	5. Reunion pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Phil meet again.
> 
> Follows "Wounded Warriors" story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a gift for user Elsin, who sent me a prompt about Phil finding out Oliver is the Arrow. I did totally accept those, if I haven't mentioned it yet?
> 
> Set post s2 of SHIELD/post Arrow s3
> 
> For the purposes of this fic, Oliver has returned. Hunter & Bobbi agreed to run one last mission and Mac/Fitz are working on Jemma's disappearance.

The pounding of bass in Coulson's ears is giving him a headache. It's been a number of years, back in his Academy days, since he's been in a place like this. Verdant's soft, green lighting and open layout make it easy to track his team from his place at the bar as they move through the crowded nightclub. 

They'd come seeking information. While nowhere on the official police records, their search of the Nightclub years prior had come up clean, the SCPD Captain had been happy to share his suspicions concerning the true purpose of the club's basement. All their other attempts at contacting the mysterious vigilante had come up short. As such, here they were.

Phil wouldn't have come here unless he was really, truly desperate. He had faith in the law and in those who upheld it. Turning to a vigilante, specifically one with as violent a history as the Arrow, left a bad taste in his mouth. The Avengers, at least, had SHIELD to keep them in line. The Arrow answered only to himself. Desperate measures, though, had forced his hand. HYDRA had set up camp in the city, and no one knew its underbelly better than the man in the hood.

"Coulson, can you hear me?" Comes Skye's disembodied voice in his ear. While the control over her powers she'd gained with the Inhumans was impressive, she couldn't work her technical magic in the club without raising suspicions. As such, she's tucked in a van just down the street, prepared to be the getaway driver should the mission go south. Phil had to admit, after nearly losing her so many times, he's more than a little relieved that she'd agreed to stay behind and out of harms way. "The basement is drawing some serious power. Way more than would be needed for a storage room. Cop guy was right, there is definitely something going on down there."

"Glad to hear we're not wasting our time." He tells her, gaze returning to the dance floor.

At its center, May is swaying gracefully to the beat of the music, simultaneously scanning the room for potential threats. The time she'd taken off had worked wonders; she's lost the rough edge she'd developed in the chaos of Skye's believed betrayal. Catching his eye, she weaves easily through the crowd and comes to perch on the stool at his side. 

"We might have a problem." She murmurs, accepting a drink from the pretty, brunette bartender in red. May gestures across the room, where Hunter and Bobbi are leaning against a wall and pretending (not really pretending) to flirt. Coulson might have considered calling them out on their distraction if he didn't know their skills as well. They were tracking their surroundings even if they didn't look it.

He follows May's gaze to a nearby hall, likely leading to offices and the basement entry, where a bouncer leaned against the doorframe to prevent any unauthorized entry. Well built, African-American, with a posture that screamed military history. He's eyeing the pair with obvious suspicion, not entirely buying their act.

"You think we've been made?" Coulson asks softly.

As if in answer to his question, the bartender slams his refilled glass down on the counter harder than perhaps necessary, casting her own wary glance their way. Phil downs it quickly, tossing a handful of bills, enough to cover the team's tab, on the counter.

"I think that's our cue." Phil rises, May following a step behind as they begin to weave towards the exit. Bobbi and Hunter catch his eye and begin their own escape from the crowded club. In his peripheral, he can see the bouncer headed their direction. Escape is impeded by the writhing bodies on the dance floor, suddenly more packed than it appeared from his barstool perch. The bouncer is just about to reach him, May tensing to lash out in his defense, when a loud voice calls across the room.

"Phil!"

All eyes snap to a figure descending the stairs from the club's upper story. Short hair, blue eyes, well-built. There is something in his voice that tugs at Coulson's distant memory as he approaches. He's most certainly met this man before.

"You know this guy, Oliver?" The bouncer huffs, surprise mingling with his earlier suspicion.

Oliver. Phil nearly choked on the air he's breathing as he takes a closer look at the man before them, comparing what he sees to the memory his name had dredged up. Of patching up a ragged ARGUS asset years prior. This was, most definitely, the same Oliver.

"I'll take it from here, Digg." Oliver waves the bouncer off, looping an arm around Coulson's shoulders and steering them towards the hallway the bouncer had previously been guarding. May follows uncertainly behind.

The hall does, as Coulson had previously suspected, lead to the club's offices. They're directed into what appears to be the manager's office, a large room decorated in lush greens. Oliver seems to fit right in among them in his own green tee.

"It's been a long time," Oliver says with a grin, settling into a chair behind the room's opulent desk. May and Coulson sit in the chairs opposite. "What brings you to my club?"

"The sign on the desk says Owner: Thea Queen," Phil responds in leu of answering. 

Oliver laughs at that. "She's my sister," he tells them. "Bought it when the family company went bankrupt. I had opened it when I returned home. Still my club... Still with SHIELD?"

"Director now." Phil says with obvious pride. May nearly rolls her eyes. She doesn't think he'll ever get sick of saying it: Phil Coulson, SHIELD Director. "Still an ARGUS agent?"

"I was never an ARGUS agent," Queen says with a wry grin, "but I've been upgraded from prisoner of war to person of interest and unofficial consultant, so that's something."

"Glad to hear it." Phil hums. "You heal up ok?"

"I did." Queen says. "I never got to thank you for the help. But I'll ask again, what brings you to Verdant?"

"SHIELD has business in the city." Phil finally relents. "Been trying to get in contact with the vigilante for the last couple days. We were hoping he could show us around, maybe lend a hand. You wouldn't happen to know where he hangs his hood, would you?"

The wry grin curls at Oliver's lips again. "I think we could work something out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no Felicity in this because I hate writing her. Especially after what happened in S3, where she's basically just used as vigilante catnip.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
